


The Griffon and the Falcon

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Steel and Roses [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Blight, Romance, Tryst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's five years before the Fifth Blight begins, and life in Highever has never been more wonderful. Esmé Cousland meets her lifetime friend and paramour Gilmore in a secret place on the grounds of Castle Cousland. She thinks her friend wants to ask her something important - and she guesses right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Griffon and the Falcon

**Author's Note:**

> In answer to the prompt from [buttercup23](http://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercup23/pseuds/buttercup23): something fluffy, pre-Blight for Esme and Gilmore.

The back garden. That was where I told Gilmore to meet me after supper. Opting for a stealthy escape, I wore my hide hunting outfit, but remained barefoot. I climbed my way down from my balcony, finding footholds along the castle wall as I descended. The masonry was thankfully somewhat uneven in regards to stone block depth, aiding in even the most delicate of fingerholds.

As soon as my heels hit the dirt below, I ran. I was silent in my flight. My body was built for speed, my mother always claimed. Tight and strong. Lithe yet muscular. I loved a good run, and tonight I felt as though I was running for my life, not away from something, but towards.

My heart pounded with anticipation and exertion. I could hardly contain my silly, childish grin.

The garden came into sight. Though it was a cloudy night and there were no lanterns in the area, I knew my grounds well enough. I also knew where the guard patrols were and, more importantly, where they were not.

 _I know a place,_ I had told Gilmore. _It’s deserted at night_.

There. My path ended in the center of the garden, under the big willow. I let my body fall flush against its trunk, and deliberately slowed my breathing, not waiting for it to calm on its own. I looked around, listened, but there was no sign of my friend. Even out of his armor, Gilmore threw a hefty step, and he had never managed to surp—

“ _Graaa!”_

The roar came from behind me, startling me to the point of squealing. I was pulled down on top of a body as we fell to the ground, but I failed to knock the wind out of my assailant. Strong hands grappled my wrists, and the body beneath me spun us around, pinning me below.

I didn’t expect my assailant’s next move to be an aggressive bought of tickling.

Gilmore knew all my faults, physical and mental. Worst of them all was my ticklish spots. My biggest weakness. He quickly had me in hysterics, curled in on myself, laughing too much to breath.

“Take your penalty!” he growled, laughing. “Serves you right for letting me sneak up on you!”

I could barely hear him over my own incessant giggling. I tried to throw a punch, a kick, anything to get him to back down, but the attack kept coming, and I kept laughing. I knew full well that I had to best him in order for the assault to end, but I could barely move.

Then Gilmore made a mistake. He leaned forward over me, fingers still tickling various spots in quick succession, but he had removed his weight from my right leg.

“Ass!” I cried as I kneed him in the ribs. Gilmore exhaled sharply and teetered back enough for me to throw myself at him, putting him flat on his back.

Unlike me, Gilmore was not ticklish. Even if he was, and I had attempted to tickle him, he would have bested me and flipped us over yet again, only to recommence the tickle fight. I had to retain my position, arms straight and pinning his to the ground, my body centered and sat on his hips. Squirm all he might, Gilmore could never escape my hold on him when I locked my body and tensed my muscles.

Grinning, he laughed, and then sighed. “Alright, I yield, Lady Cousland.”

I responded in a lofty, queenly tone, stressing the Denerim accent to mimic the newly-crowned Queen-Consort Anora, wife of King Cailan, whom I had met briefly the day my family traveled to meet the new monarchs.

“Do you _swearrr_ by the blood of your annncestors to pledge _feeealty_ to me and to _alllll_ of Highever?”

Gilmore giggled, and replied, “Yes, Lady Cousland. Forever.”

I brushed the tip of my nose against his, and we shared a grin before I kissed him. His lips were rough and chapped from days in the sun, the same sun that kissed his and my skin and turned our winter pale to summer gold, the same sun that bleached tresses of our hair and faded rich, dark orange to light copper.

We looked alike, Gilmore and me. Same skin, same hair, even the same emerald eyes. People joked that we were related, or even twins, but in reality many people in northern Ferelden shared our look. But because Gilmore and I – especially me – were known throughout the land, we were the subject of rumors, rumors that we passively encouraged just to see the looks on people’s faces when we kissed in public.

It was fantastic. Even my mother laughed off the possibility, being best friends with Gilmore’s mother and having witnessed his birth. In any case, my mother and Gilmore’s father just so happened to look alike, too, as did a quarter of all northerners.

Though my father was still adamantly against the union, my mother fully supported my choice in a suitor. I was only their second-born, after all, and my brother was already married to a noblewoman who bore him a son. The Terynship of Highever was safe. I didn’t have to settle for an arranged marriage.

Gilmore pushed at my shoulder gently, lifting my mouth from his. “I have something for you,” he announced, and fumbled with his small purse attached to his belt. Retrieving the object, he lifted his hand and opened, letting the object dangle from a delicate metal chain in front of me. I caught the small medallion in my palm, and eyed the design. The gold circle was stamped with what looked like the head of an eagle, or other such raptor.

“It was my mother’s,” he said, sitting up. “When she got sick, she gave it to me. I think she already knew about us, then. She said that it had belonged to my father’s mother, and he had given it to my mother when he told her – uh….” Gilmore cleared his throat, looked down, and made a weak attempt at cracking his neck. “When he asked….”

I reached out to Gilmore and cupped his cheek, turning him to face me again. I smiled and, finding myself unable to speak, I placed a gentle kiss on the tip of the man’s nose. I had the dizzying feeling that Gilmore was trying to ask me a very important question, and my composure had shriveled as much as his apparently had.

His eyes stayed focused on mine, and we mirrored each other’s soft, nervous facial movements that eventually twitched into shared smiles.

His free hand swept to the back of my head, weaving fingers into my hair. His hand that clutched the necklace sought one of mine, and gripped tightly.

His lower lip quivered as he began to speak. “I-I know that your father… he doesn’t… he wants someone highborn for you. And he should; I can understand his wishes. But I love you, Esmé Oirlana Cousland. My golden griffon. And if you’ll have me, I swear, I’ll prove to your father that I’m worthy of you.” Gilmore swallowed hard, and continued. “I’m not asking you to run away with me. I wouldn’t want that for you. But, someday, in the future, when your father consents, I want to marry you. Would you… would you want that? To marry me?”

With my hand that had been cupping his cheek, I covered his hand that held mine. The necklace continued to dangle between us. “Yes, Gilly. Of course I would. Consent, or no. I love you, too.”

Gilmore exhaled a laugh and his body visibly relaxed. He grinned, and released his grip on my hand in order to unclasp the necklace chain. As he slid his hands passed my shoulders to adorn my neck, he bent down, letting his lips caress my jaw. I nuzzled his cheek with my own.

“My intended,” he whispered, letting his breath linger on my skin before sitting on his heels.

My response, as per usual, was not nearly as graceful. I leapt forward, throwing my arms around Gilmore, and attacked him with my lips.


End file.
